Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

I was supposed to take the lead in this game. I was so excited Jakob was allowing me to do this, and after I’d explained myself to him, I was sure it was for the best. But now, I don’t know if I made the right choice. If my decision was made out of fear of what I felt was inevitable. Boon’s right, though. I don’t know him, and I assumed the worst when I didn’t even give him a chance to show me otherwise.

Now… Now, he may never speak to me again, and that has formed a nasty ball of pain in my gut.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I don’t look at my sister as I watch the game. “Nothing,” I say, marking things on my tablet about the other team for later. The Wild may be great on the PK, but their 5-on-5 play is sloppy. Mainly because they don’t mind going on the PK. They’re confident.

“You seem off. Quiet.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Oh,” she says softly. She puts her hand on the desk, leaning close to me. “Are you sure? You seem different.”

Well, I lost my virginity today, hurt a dude who really didn’t deserve to be hurt, and I’m so in my head that I am questioning all aspects of my life.

“I’m just fine,” I say, still not looking at her.

She brings her hand up, pinching my jaw, turning me so I am looking right in her blue eyes. “I love you.”

My shoulders fall. My eyes are misty as I try to smile. “I love you too.”

“I got you, no matter what. You know that.”

“I know,” I say, and I know she does.

It’s just hard to speak to someone about something like this. She wouldn’t understand why I was a virgin. She lost her virginity at sixteen, and believe me, that was late for how much those boys were begging. Shelli wouldn’t understand why I feel the way I do, that guys just didn’t seem to want or appreciate me. She never knew how the guys always wanted her instead. I never told her. I just quietly resented her, which I realize isn’t healthy, but I know her. She’d make a scene, make it worse. They don’t call her Slap Shot Shelli for nothing. She’s always going off half-cocked, so yeah, I felt I had to deal with it alone. Now, those issues have ruined what possibly could have been a really awesome thing for me.

Completely oblivious, Shelli pinches my jaw once more before walking off.

Just then, the McBroenes line starts skating like they stole money from the bank and the police are coming after them. From the moment Boon hit the ice, I noticed he was playing angry. It’s working—he’s kicking ass—but I hate that I’m the reason he feels that way. I wanted so badly to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck, begging him to forgive me. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I let the past get in the way? I want to talk to him, but I don’t even know what to say.

Or if Boon would even speak to me.

I lean on the desk as Brooks carries the puck in. He’s yelling something, but up here, I’m unable to hear. He passes the puck to Hoenes, who drops it back for Reeves, while he and Mac head to the net. The Wild are on their heels, and when Reeves shoots, the goalie blocks it, but it goes right to Mac. He doesn’t have a clear lane, and he passes it to Hoenes, who does. Hoenes lifts it up and over the goalie’s left leg pad, and when the light comes on, I scream out in victory.

What a beaut of a goal.

But Boon isn’t done.

He scores once more, forty-nine seconds later.

An incredible pass from Reeves that he deflects into the goal. It’s madness! I’m vibrating with excitement at how well he is doing. But then Willy is cross-checked into the boards, and we go on the power play.

Here we go.

My stomach drops as Brooks and his line head out without Mac and Hoenes. I don’t know if I made the right decision. I’m soon second-guessing myself as I watch the play set up. When we can’t even break the fucking zone, I get irritated. When Mac’s line comes out, I’m on the edge of my seat. They are able to break the zone, but they can’t make anything happen. The two minutes go by extremely fast with no success. Shit. Not good for me. They didn’t even get any shots on goal.

When there is only a minute left in the period, I head downstairs to the locker room to wait. I make sure I’m out of view because I’m a coward and don’t want to see Boon. I’m so proud of him, proud of his play, and I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want him to see me and have his good game go to shit. Though his anger toward me may have fueled his play. Who knows? Maybe tonight was meant to be a good night for him. I hope that’s it. I hope he doesn’t hate me.